<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Under My Umbrella by notyourdaydream</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575123">Under My Umbrella</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourdaydream/pseuds/notyourdaydream'>notyourdaydream</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, One Shot, Tags Are Hard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:27:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourdaydream/pseuds/notyourdaydream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kurt really hates New York rain, but loves New York men.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Under My Umbrella</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is my first time writing story with these characters, and my first time publishing! So I'm sorry if it's a little rocky. I also wrote this at 1 am on a Saturday so..... Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Kurt Hummel hates New York.</p><p> </p><p>Well, that isn’t completely true. He really loves New York. He loves how open it is, and the freedom he has. In Lima he felt like a bird trapped in a cage, and being the only gay kid in his school certainly didn’t help his loneliness. He loves his apartment, even though sharing it with two people means it’s constantly loud and never empty enough. He loves how the buildings tower above him, so he constantly feels like he’s being wrapped up in the city.</p><p> </p><p>What he means is, he really fucking hates New York and it’s bipolar weather.</p><p> </p><p>Back in Lima, the weather was pretty certain. If the weatherman said it was going to snow, it would snow. If the newspaper called for days filled with sun and blue skies, he knew the park would be filled with young couples spread lazily on picnic blankets and kids playing tag with sticky fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Here though, he can’t even trust the weather app on his phone. He never knows how cold it really is until he steps outside, and he usually doesn’t come back inside when he does for fear of being late. He should’ve listened to Santana when she told him and Rachel to always carry an umbrella in their bag. (She called them her <em>Lima Heights Adjacent Tips. </em>He remembers her saying, <em>“Lady Hummel, Yentl, if you two wanna survive in the Big Apple, you have gots to act like you have some sense. Life is not a Broadway  musical.”</em>) Though, Kurt would never admit this to her, not wanting to see the satisfied smirk and, <em>“I told you so, Lady Hummel.”</em> dancing on her tongue.</p><p> </p><p>So, here he stands, drenched in icy New York rain.</p><p> </p><p>Kurt didn’t even know how it happened. One minute, he goes underground to catch his far too early subway to the other side of town, and when he emerges forty-five minutes later, harsh rain is spraying him down, so heavy he can barely find his way to Bean Me Up, his favorite coffee place near the Vogue building. Sure, the name is pretty cheesy, but the small shop has become his sanctuary when he needs to get away from the Bushwick apartment he calls home, usually on the days when Santana and Rachel scream so loud he silently prays that the landlords won’t kick them out.</p><p> </p><p>Kurt hurries inside the cafe hoping to slip inside quietly and fix his ruined outfit, and immediately slams into the back of someone in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Can this day literally get any worse? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh,I’m so sorry!” Kurt blinks through the rain clinging to his face and stutters out an apology. Apparently, his day could get worse, because he just slammed into the most handsome man he’s seen in his nineteen years of life. He has curly black hair that’s gelled back just a little bit, tan skin and eyes the color of honey Rachel swirls into her tea every morning. Honey colored eyes that go wide at the sight of Kurt.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s all good, though I can’t say the same about you,” the man looks at him up and down briefly before continuing, “You’re soaking wet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” <em> Idiot, </em>Kurt chastises himself. “I mean uh, the rain got me.” He can feel his face heat up, and he hopes this mystery man can’t see the blood rush to his fair cheeks. </p><p> </p><p>“I was just about to order, but come with me, we can get you all dry.” The man places his hand on Kurt’s forearm and leads him to a table near the corner, right in front of the widow. The touch has Kurt feeling alive, tiny fireworks going off in his body with this man’s soft yet firm grip on his bicep.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” Honey Eyes, as he’s decided to call him, asks Kurt as after he pulls back his chair. Kurt slips into the chair and immediately grabs napkins, patting at his face and any area that he can salvage in the moment. His brown silk shirt will have to be dry cleaned. He thanks his lucky stars he wasn’t wearing one of his McQueen pieces.</p><p> </p><p>“Do I look okay?” Kurt lamely gestures down at him. His shirt is clinging to his chest, he can feel water dripping down his legs and onto the worn mahogany floor of the cafe.</p><p> </p><p>“Fair enough.” Honey Eyes gives a soft smile and outstretches his hand. “I’m Blaine.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Blaine. </em> That name does laps in Kurt’s head as he shakes Blaine’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Kurt. Sorry, I uh, usually look a bit better than this.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you look great.” Blaine stares up at him through his lashes, a smile in his eyes. Kurt swore he saw red creep up his olive skin as he cards a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna go get us some drinks, alright?” Kurt shakes his head feverishly, dotting the scratched table with water droplets.</p><p> </p><p>Before he can tell Blaine that he really, really doesn’t have to buy him a drink, and that <em> he </em>should be the one buying drinks after slamming into him, Blaine holds a hand up. </p><p> </p><p>“Please, it’s the least I can do. What would you like?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nonfat mocha, please.” Kurt says.</p><p> </p><p>Blaine nods and walks off to the counter to order. From this far away, Kurt can actually get a good look at him. His olive skin looks great against the red shirt and plaid bowtie. Which, to be honest, Kurt thinks would look loud and childish on anybody but Blaine. And he notices how his biceps flex as he gives his card to the barista, the genuine smile he gives when she says have a nice day. He wants to notice more things about Blaine. How many sugars he puts into his coffee, how he shakes his hips as he stirs it, like he’s dancing to a song only he can hear. If he likes cranberry biscotti in the winter, or if he taps his feet when he’s nervous. Kurt wonders if he likes people playing with his hair when laying on the couch, or forehead kisses in the mornings.</p><p> </p><p>Kurt files these questions to the trash bin of his brain. <em> You just met him, Kurt. In a very embarrassing situation at that. He’s being nice because you ran into him like a deer in headlights. Not the right time to be ringing the wedding bells. </em> He snaps out of his thoughts as Blaine sits down and slides his mocha across the table to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.” Kurt takes a long sip, lets the taste wash over his tongue and fill his chest with warmth.</p><p> </p><p>“No problem. So,” Blaine smirks over the lid of his chai latte, “where are you headed after this? Or planning to sit out the storm here? Don’t want you running into anymore guys today.”</p><p> </p><p>Kurt laughs, mostly out of embarrassment than anything. “No, I was headed to my job. Internship, I should say, at Vogue.com.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh, fancy.”</p><p> </p><p>“As fancy as sitting around taking calls all day can be. What about you, Mr. Blaine?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I have classes at NYU soon. I stop here a few mornings when I have time.” Blaine shrugs, and digs through his bag. He pulls out a black collapsible umbrella and holds it out to Kurt. “Take this, don’t wanna ruin this cute outfit anymore before work, right?”</p><p> </p><p><em> Cute? </em> That word rings in Kurt’s head. He wants to push the umbrella away, tell Blaine to keep it. Because the rain is picking up, and he’s already wet. But something about Blaine’s smile makes him grab it and place it in his satchel.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Blaine.” Kurt blushes. “So, what do you study at NYU?”</p><p> </p><p>“Acting, believe it or not. Guess it runs in the family.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” Kurt wonders briefly if Blaine is from a family of famous actors, and he’s secretly super rich. He pushes that thought out of his head because if he really was rich and famous, there’s no way he’d be sitting here talking to Kurt. Or dressed like a sexy kindergarten teacher.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeez, this is gonna sound really stupid.” Blaine blows air out of his nose in a silent laugh and drops his head. “My brother did these dumb insurance commercials a few years back. It had this dumb jingle, ‘Know your score, CreditRatingToday.com!’” He sings in an obnoxious but not horrible voice before they both crack up.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway,” Blaine says in between laughs, “he got a really big head over it. Moved to L.A. to pursue acting.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh. My. God.</em> “Oh my god, your brother is the Credit Rating Today guy?! The jingle was my ringtone!” Kurt exclaims, while Blaine looks horrified across the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no,” he groans, dragging out the ‘o’. “You actually <em> like </em>those? Wait, the commercials only played in Ohio. Where are you from.” He points his finger at Kurt in mock seriousness.</p><p> </p><p>“Lima. Where slushies are modern torture devices. Are you from there too?” <em> Please say no, please say no. If you say yes, you saw me get tossed into dumpsters in the mornings and covered in Red 40 by 3:00. </em></p><p> </p><p>“No, Westerville. Filled with snobby, rich families and even snobbier kids,” Blaine rolls his eyes playfully and shakes his head. “But it’s home.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, you <em> are </em> famous and from a rich family.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Blaine frowns and knits his eyebrows together.</p><p> </p><p>Kurt curses himself. Can he ever shut his mouth? “I- never mind. So Westerville, huh? That’s only a few hours from Lima. Strange we never ran into each other.”</p><p> </p><p>If Blaine’s freaked out or offended by Kurt’s mental slip up, his face doesn’t show it. “I don’t know, if we ran into each other there, I never would have had the pleasure of meeting you now. Besides, I was pretty busy with glee club rehearsals every day.”</p><p> </p><p>“You were in a glee club too?”</p><p> </p><p>Over the next thirty minutes, Kurt and Blaine talk about everything they think to bring up, from glee club to friends, even bringing up Coach Sylvester to Blaine’s shock and demands of more stories. When it comes up that Blaine is gay, Kurt tries not to let surprise and excitement read too easily on his face. Blaine shows his hand when Kurt not so subtly drops that he’s also gay. He perks up, and almost immediately deflates again, but Kurt noticed. And when their fingers brush past each others’ as Kurt animatedly tells the story of when Finn and Rachel kissed during their nationals performance, he doesn’t miss the blush creeping up Blaine’s neck. Weirdly, getting to know Blaine doesn’t feel like getting to know anyone at all. If anything, it feels like reconnecting with an old friend. Or the half of himself he’d been searching for without him knowing he was looking for it.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?” Kurt follows Blaine glance out of the window to see that the rain stopped. People pull down their hoods and close their umbrellas and move on with their day. He realizes that <em> this </em> is over, Blaine already chugging the rest of his latte and shouldering his bag.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I guess this is it.” Blaine smiles, almost sadly, as he stands up. Kurt puts on the same smile as they head towards the door.</p><p> </p><p>Outside, steam rises off of the asphalt. It still smells like rain, and the road is decorated in rainbow petroleum puddles. It’s humid, a little too humid, and Kurt feels sticky already. The sun peeks through wool grey clouds, hitting Blaine like a stage light, as if he’s the only thing the heavens want Kurt to be looking at right now.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you so much for the coffee. And the conversation.” <em> And making butterflies do a ballroom waltz in my stomach. </em> “I wish I could repay you in some way.”</p><p> </p><p>Blaine nods down at his paper cup. “I’m sure you can think of something. But I’ve really gotta run now. See you, Kurt.” Blaine adjusts his bag and gives a small wave before walking down the street. Kurt watches him for a bit, before remembering he’s in the middle of a New York sidewalk, and he’s close to his first day late to work. He all but runs to the building. </p><p> </p><p>Later, Kurt sits down at his desk exhausted. (And dressed in a new shirt and pants Isabelle insisted he put on.) He swallows the last bit of his mocha, cold and sickly sweet by now, and moves to throw the cup away before he sees a note peeking under the cup sleeve. He grins to himself. <em>So that’s what he meant.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Here’s my number, text me sometime? :) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Blaine x </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fin. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have an idea to do a "book of sleepovers" following Mercedes that I'm writing so if you'd be interested in reading that let me know! Any feedback or constructive criticism would very much be appreciated as I'm still trying to find my writing style while keeping the characters' voices.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>